


Neal Can't Lie...But He Tries

by Fedora Of Adorableness (TheTimelessChild0)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Awesome Elizabeth Burke (White Collar), Bed-Wetting, Caring Reese Hughes, Embarrassment, Episode: s03e07 Taking Account, Friendship, Mozzie has Perfect Recall (White Collar), Protective Elizabeth Burke (White Collar), Protective Peter Burke, Satchmo is a good dog, Understanding Mozzie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24418681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTimelessChild0/pseuds/Fedora%20Of%20Adorableness
Summary: Neal discovers how observant his friends are.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey/Sara Ellis
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: WC²





	1. Introduction

**He wasn’t entirely sure how it began. Of course, it had happened in his childhood, as with everybody..only, he thought when it stopped, it had stopped for good.**

**The first time, Mozzie nearly found out. But he acted quickly, and poured the remainder of a Merlot all over the sheets, and put them to soak in the sink.**

**He figured it was a fluke. He was wrong. It reappeared in prison briefly, also ignored. Sure, it wasn’t just him, prison was rough for everyone, but he couldn’t even lift a finger at the commissary to ask for a remedy. Remedies were for chronic cases. His would end. And then it didn’t. So he stopped drinking water before bed, got dehydrated and sent to the infirmary.**

**After a few days with a catheter, Peter came to see him.**

_“Are they mistreating you?” was the first words from Burke’s lips._

_“Peter…” Neal just rolled his eyes._

_“You don’t have to act tough in front of everyone, tell me the truth,” he pressed, sincerely._

_“No,”_

_“Did you do it to yourself?” Burke frowned, now more concerned._

_“It’s not what you think..it was the only way,” he attempted to explain._

_“Only way to what?”_

_“Make it stop,” Neal said vaguely._

_“Neal. Make what stop?” Peter asked, in a no-nonsense voice._

_Neal closed his eyes, looking down with a sigh. He looked at Peter defeatedly. The agent looked sympathetic._

_“The bed-wetting,” he blurted out, running from the room._

_Peter just sat there. That was not what he expected the most devious con man in the US or **the world** , to say. _

_He just used his sway with the warden to get Neal the anti-diuretic he needed. And that was that._


	2. June

Settling into the penthouse went smoothly. At first. June was lovely, her granddaughter was...attractive, and the air was cleaner. 

Neal woke up the third night, blinking awake, suspecting nothing. There was no noise, no smell of something burning, just the usual feeling of his hotel standard linens, soaked in sweat. He wrestled his legs out of his duvet and tried to go back to sleep. 

But something felt off. His underwear was wet. He didn’t recall sweating that much from _that_ area. He looked down at his white boxers. They were no longer white. His heartbeat picked up speed as he jolted out of bed. 

The spot he previously identified as sweat was large. 

“This isn’t happening. This _so_ is _not_ happening..” he griped, massaging his temples frustratedly. 

His calf began itching and he looked down. _Oh._

“Fuck!” he lamented. His anklet wasn’t dry as a desert, either. 

  
  


Stretching awake properly, Neal set to work on the sheets. He stripped the bed and changed his underpants, wrapping the dirty ones into the bundle. 

He searched the back room, but found nothing but Byron’s illegal gambling supplies.

He slid the door open and stepped quietly into the hallway. Alas, as soon as he took the first step towards the stairs, he heard another door creak open. He zipped into an alcove, standing stiff as a board, barely breathing. 

“Nice try, Cindy. Get back in your room or I’ll make you dust out Byron’s study,” June warned, shuffling towards Neal. 

Neal tried to shuffle further inside the alcove, into the dark, but accidentally bumped his anklet into the wall in the process. 

June froze. It sounded like an anklet, having heard it hitting the wall whenever Neal walked up the stairs.

“Neal?” she called. No answer.

“I can see you, Mr Caffrey. And it’s past your bedtime too,” she smiled at him, tugging on his arm. 

Neal quickly hid his laundry behind his back. “I...eh...I couldn’t sleep,” he began. “Figured I might as well do some laundry while I’m up,” 

“Oh, of course. It’s downstairs,” she led him back towards the stairs. Then she stopped, looking at him seriously.

“Neal..I hope you’re not embarrassed about this,” June said softly.

Neal felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. 

“Why would I be embarrassed?” he asked innocently. 

“I’m old, not stupid. There is only one reason a grown man would wash his bedsheets at this hour,” June reminded him.

She put her hands on his shoulders. 

“Neal, listen to me because I’m only going to say this once: adults wet the bed sometimes too. Even without alcohol. Accidents happen. To everyone. Even me, _even_ Byron. Really,” she assured him. 

“You’re just saying that,” he breathed, looking down. 

“I’m saying it because it’s _true_ ,” June promised, putting a hand on his heart for emphasis. 

The warmth of the gesture sealed the deal. The pit in his stomach melted into caramel. 

“Thanks, June,” Neal said, sincerely. 

“Anytime, Mr Caffrey,” she comforted, with a hug. 

***********

The sheets were in the wash, new ones were in place, now only one problem remained: his anklet. 

Neal pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, focusing on June’s words. He dialled. 

* * *

  
  


Peter woke up, fumbling in the dark for his phone. Worry began to set in when he saw Neal’s name on the screen. 

“Caffrey? Do I need to set you a curfew?” he joked, tiredly. 

“Could say the same for you. Picked up after two rings. Miss me?” he snarked back. 

“No, and I better _not_ be in the morning,” Peter warned. 

“I just have a quick question, and I need you not to overthink it,” Neal requested. 

“Proceed,” 

“Is the anklet waterproof?” he asked. 

“Did you pee on it?” Peter smirked audibly. 

“NO! What..no, come on, my aim isn’t _that_ bad,” Neal scoffed. 

Peter frowned temporarily at hearing the first big no. It was a very _quick_ denial...

“Hey, accidents happen, you keep your eyes closed, pull out before you’re finished, stranger things have happened,” he shrugged casually. 

“Shut up, what happened to not overthinking it?” Neal hissed. 

“Sorry...of course, it’s waterproof, I expect you to shower every day, why would it not be?” Peter murmured gruffly.

Logic hit Neal like a brick. “Right, sorry. Duh. Thanks, Agent Burke,” Neal thanked him and hung up, rolling his eyes at himself. 

Cleanup reminded him bitterly of what happened, but Peter’s words helped..kind of. 

_Strange is right,_ Neal reasoned, resolutely refuting Burke’s examples. 

At the Burke residence, Peter Burke tossed and turned, considering the phone call he just had. 

  
_Since when does Neal call me Agent Burke,_ **_after_ ** _his release? And that denial was...instantaneous,_ Peter ruminated.

Something was going on. And he needed to find out. 


	3. Hughes

Neal already hated the van. The utterly dull grey walls, the cramped up space, the smell..okay, partially his fault. He was gassy and claustrophobic. Not a good combination. Thankfully they were parked near a coffee shop, so he got both his current concerns taken care off. 

But, alas, caffeine only works for so long, and then the body just blatantly ignores it. 

Reese was a man with great strength, especially when one considered his advanced age. But even he was not superhuman. Hughes awoke from his second powernap to find his protege for the evening, sitting in the exact same position as before. 

“Nothing’s going to happen in the next couple of hours, Caffrey. Get some rest,” he urged the con-man. 

“I’m not tired,” Neal stated, before stretching his neck tensely. 

Hughes began to see why Peter had trouble getting Caffrey to follow instructions. He smirked pointedly at him, grabbing a blanket.

“I won’t have you collapse mid-chase, kid. Bed-Time, and that’s an order,” Hughes said sternly. 

Neal rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to remind him that “grandparents” should be nice. 

At first, he tried to keep his eyes half-open, so it looked like he was sleeping, but he could remain conscious. Which was vital. 

Caffrey sometimes wondered if Hughes had eyes in the back of his neck, especially now, when he turned on classical music. That was the last thought he had before shutting off completely. 

* * *

Hughes woke up to the sound of Jones leaving the van again, either for a bathroom break or another check of the area they were scoping out. 

He noticed Neal sleeping restlessly. Which honestly made sense, since he was sleeping in a chair. Reese went back to checking the footage. 

The sounds of Caffrey moving around progressed to the point where it was now unlikely to be anything other than some sort of dream. In case it was unpleasant, Hughes shuffled over and tapped him on the shoulder. Nothing. 

“Caffrey?” he called. Once again nothing. 

He tried to tune him out, but ultimately failed, so he grabbed a newspaper. 

*********

Hughes had long since forgotten about the existence of a sleeping man behind him. Instead, his focus went toward the case. And the smell of the van. 

_Hmm. Caffrey’s right there is a mean stink in here,_ he realised. 

He began sniffing around the room, to locate the source and found it originating from Caffrey. Hughes made his exploration more cautious to not wake the man, but stopped when he heard a noise.

Specifically, the sound of dripping. He looked down to find some type of liquid running down Caffrey’s chair. Hughes unravelled part of the blanket to find the stream originating elsewhere. His nose perked up again, so in a moment of fleeting curiosity, he yanked it off Neal further. 

His eyebrows shot in the air as if to replace the lack of hair on his forehead. Not only did a trickle of liquid emerge at speed from a very _particular_ area of Caffrey’s body, but the spot on his trousers, visible in the light of the lamp, made figuring out what was going on frightfully simple. 

Neal was...in a sense.. _wetting the bed_. More precisely, the chair he was _using_ as a bed.

Except now he was using it as something else entirely. 

_Well, that wasn’t in his medical file..._ Hughes pondered, getting over the initial shock. He was also waiting for Neal to finish. Waking him up would be necessary, rude not to. But even ruder if done when the subject is still going. Embarrassment is much worse if interrupted _mid-stream_. Very few are able to stop it from resuming in this case.

Eventually, after what was in Hughes opinion, an unhealthy amount of time, Neal was done. So Reese promptly shook him awake, gently. 

“Caffrey!” he yelped, for the sake of efficiency. 

Neal blinked awake, sitting upright. 

“What..what’s going on?” he mumbled, before freezing. 

_Oh please please please let that not be what I think it is,_ he prayed to absolutely no one, noticing the cold, wet, feeling of his bottom half. 

“You tell me,” Reese hinted, raising an eyebrow, pointing at the chair. 

“Well..you see..I swear...this..is..I…” Neal stammered nervously, heart pounding. 

The last person he wanted to know about _that_ , was Hughes.

“Relax Caffrey, you’re not in trouble..yet. Take a deep breath,” Reese recommended. 

Neal proceeded to take his advice, sucking in air and sighing it out. 

It was in the midst of this, that Jones reentered the vehicle. 

“Any change on your end, sir?” Clint asked, moving towards his seat, which now had one leg dangerously close to Neal’s puddle. 

“No, and I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” Hughes put up a hand. He subtly slid a nearly empty can of soda off the table. Neal looked down, part confused, part worried.

“Why..oh, did you spill something?” Jones asked, before noticing the puddle. He assumed from the progression of their conversation that Hughes was responsible. 

“Soda,” Hughes confirmed, picking up the can, deliberately close to the puddle, to firmly establish the false connection. “Trouble with long arms,” he mentioned, grabbing paper towels. 

“I can help, Mr Hughes,” Neal offered immediately. 

“I got it. No problem,” Reese smiled sincerely at the “agent”. 

“Just sit tight, we don’t want the chair to spread it around,” Jones clarified. 

_Oh._ Neal was slightly disappointed, having imagined for a brief second, that Hughes sympathised with him. 

“Could you come out here please, Mr Caffrey? I got a bag here for the blanket,” Hughes waved at him. 

Jones absently wondered why they had to leave the van to put the blanket in the bag, but he wasn’t about to question his boss’ boss. Neal tried very hard to ignore Jones' glare, which he was certain was on him out of suspicion.

He was also glad that Jones wouldn’t see what he was covering with said blanket. 

* * *

Once they were outside, in the dark of the back of the van, Hughes did something unexpected. He didn’t just put the blanket in the bag. He took off his jacket.

Then he handed it to Neal. “Put this around your waist,” he instructed. Neal did the obvious thing, wrapping it over the incriminating area.

“Take a left at that corner, you’ll see the subway entrance, L train takes you to your house in three stops. That’s the end of your contribution to the stakeout, Neal. You’re off-duty,” Hughes informed him. 

“Sir, I just wanna say, in there, I’m so so-” Neal attempted to apologize, but was cut off. 

“Sorry? I get it. That’s not necessary. Neal, I’m your boss’ boss. I work for the FBI. I’m smart enough to know that _wasn’t_ intentional. We’re not done talking about this, but that can wait until you're rested. Take as much sleep as you need. Long as you show up at _some_ point tomorrow, we don’t have a problem. Okay?” Hughes put his hands on Neal’s shoulders. 

Neal was completely speechless. In part due to being addressed by his first name _twice_ , by the man who didn’t even bother using words to summon him. 

“Alright. Thank you, sir,” he nodded at Hughes. Hughes responded with a thumbs up, then just stepped back inside the van. 

While his brain wanted to process what just happened, Neal’s legs wanted to run. So they did. On the way, he realised he had been mistaken. 

An unsympathetic man wouldn’t care if people stared at his “asset” while he trekked home. He certainly wouldn’t make sure said asset recuperated from the humiliation. In fact, Hughes had gone out of his way to ensure no humiliation lingered. And he hadn’t treated him merely as an asset. He treated him as Neal. He’d _called him_ Neal. 

Neal ran upstairs at light speed, jumping in the shower. June didn’t question it. In Byron’s day, a surveillance vehicle was a rusty Ford Anglia with windows that couldn’t be pulled down properly. 

The night was different. Instead of thinking absurdly nice things about his handler, _Peter_ , he was thinking nice things about Reese. Reese Hughes. An unbelievably benevolent man. 

  
He couldn’t even _attempt_ to worry about their future talk. He had a sense that it would go just fine.


	4. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only they had a fortune cookie.

Neal entered the FBI White Collar office at 1 PM. Agent Burke raised both eyebrows in surprise. When he’d asked Hughes where Neal was, his superior had been evasive, and made excuses. The latter in particular was something he’d almost _never_ done, especially not in regards to Caffrey. 

“I see the fox climbed out of his penthouse burrow. Slept through an alarm?” Peter guessed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“Didn’t set an alarm,” Neal stated casually, grabbing a cup, then putting it down and walking away. 

“So Hughes was telling the truth? He really gave you a half-day off? What did you do while I was sick, to earn that?” Burke questioned, sceptically. 

“You _mistrusted_ Hughes? Don’t repeat that in front of Mozzie,” Neal smiled humorously. “Half-day would be an exaggeration, or an understatement however you want to see it. He said I could come in whenever,” he clarified. 

“Again; why we would he do such a thing?” 

“I guess he likes me,” Neal wiggled his head playfully. 

“That doesn’t happen overnight,” Peter noted. 

“As it turns out, yes it does,” Neal shrugged. 

* * *

Neal walked calmly into Hughes’ office. 

“Now is the time for our talk,” Reese introduced. Neal just nodded.

“I said you weren’t in trouble and I meant it. Then and now. While I confess it was...unexpected, I don’t blame you. Your body is your body. I don’t expect you to have complete control over it,” 

Neal began staring out of the window. The tension surrounding what Hughes had seen during the night, was more than present. 

“Neal. Look at me, please,” Hughes requested, almost like a teacher. 

Caffrey sighed, but complied. 

“I just have one question, and I promise there will be no judgement whatever you answer. Has this happened before?” he asked. 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Neal remarked dryly. 

“In your adult life,” Reese specified. 

“Yes,” he admitted sadly. 

Hughes just nodded, expression entirely plain. 

“How often?” 

Neal covered his face and planted his head firmly on the table. 

“Caffrey, like it or not, this...aspect of your private life has collided with your professional. I need assurance that it won’t lead to animosity between you and the other agents if you come in, the morning after,” Hughes explained. 

“I don’t know how to provide that,” Neal shrugged. 

“Ok, here’s what we do. You’ve got two options: either I, completely and covertly, off the record, get you some kind of...assistance, medical or hygienic, just between us. Or, you see a doctor about this,” Hughes presented the choice. 

“Doctor it is,” Neal surrendered. He couldn’t easily refuse, the problem was big enough that he wanted to address it. 

Reese grabbed hold of his shoulder before he could leave the room. 

  
“You want to be a good agent, right?” he asked. Neal nodded. “A good agent doesn’t let past mistakes hold them back or haunt them,” he brushed off his shoulder to illustrate his point. 

“Yes sir,” Neal replied, sighing heavily. It wasn’t as easy as he’d hoped, but not unpleasant either. 

* * *

The afternoon was spent visiting museums, to find a forged Monet, that their suspect had planted in one of them. They’d narrowed down the list based on the method of off-the-books payment, but still, several remained. 

Neal pointed out the flaws and imperfections proving the one they’d found were indeed fake. Then they just stood back and admired it. 

Peter occasionally couldn’t help but feel like a Dad. Even when talking about perfectly normal things, showing reasonable affection for his CI, his partner, his friend...he couldn’t shake the feeling of having a _son_. Ridiculous, of course. 

It struck him again, when he noticed Neal’s posture. Specifically, his hands. They were folded in his lap, as if to almost _hold_.

He breathed out of the corner of his mouth in amusement, before stepping in. “Need to go to the bathroom?” he quipped casually. 

“What? No, I’m fine,” Neal baulked, irritated. 

“It’s just..the way you were keeping your hands, like you didn’t want to..” Peter hinted with his fist, miming the act of closing muscles. 

“Shh, you’re disturbing the art,” he shushed him. Peter noticed Neal rubbing his thighs and adjusting his belt. 

“Neal.” this was his way of saying “I see what you’re doing”. 

“I didn’t need to before you asked me,” Neal protested, walking away. 

“Other way, right and two lefts,” Burke corrected. 

“I said SHUT UP!” Neal screamed. A few people on each side of the room stared. 

“Peter, I’m so sorry,” he apologized, walking away faster. 

Peter frowned, looking at where Neal had been, thinking.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Neal flipped through old files of the Dutchman, ignoring the clock. For two reasons; One, it was only 10 minutes until his doctor’s appointment. And Two, he had to pee. He didn’t give a damn about the latter, as the best distraction from what he was about to say and to whom, was casework. Especially dull casework.

_You’ve gotta be shitting me._ Hughes stepped out of his office, towards the stairs. Stretching his fingers, he pointed two at Caffrey and the same to at the door. It obviously wasn’t time to leave, so the meaning wasn’t lost on the con man. 

He swiftly obliged, turning to go to the bathroom.

Peter walked to Jones’ desk. “Since when does Hughes know when Caffrey needs to _go_?” Clinton questioned. 

  
“He’s known for a while,” Peter guessed, shrugging. “Better question, why is he suddenly intervening?” 

* * *

Neal brushed off both shoulders, cleaning them of metaphorical dirt in the form of shame. He knew he had nothing to be ashamed of. Now he believed it.

“Where are you going?” Peter stopped him from leaving. 

“Nowhere,” 

“That’s right, back to your desk, Houdini,” Burke commanded. 

“I have a doctor’s appointment,” Neal explained. 

Peter got concerned. 

“You’re feeling sick?” he asked worriedly. 

“Not like that,” 

“Then what are you seeing a doctor for? What’s wrong? Peter pushed. 

“Nothing,” Neal lied. 

“Don’t lie to me, Neal. You’ve been acting weird lately. What’s going on?” he asked firmly. 

“Can we not do this right now?! Hughes’ll have my head if I’m not out the door,” Neal stressed. 

“Hughes made the appointment?” Neal nodded. “Okay, I’ll deal with him if we use too much time. In the meantime, I need answers. Now,” 

Neal beckoned Peter to follow him into the hallway with the memorial plaques. 

***

“Why did you yell at me at the museum yesterday?” Peter started asking. 

“I don’t know. Embarrassment, feeling patronised,” Neal shrugged.

“I was just looking out for you,” he assured him. 

“I know, touchy subject I guess,” Caffrey remarked. 

“Why would your bladder be a touchy subject? Is that why you’re seeing a doctor?” Peter asked, confused. 

Neal’s eyes widened, as he realised he said too much. 

“Yes and no..not whatever you’re thinking. It’s not _bad_ it’s...complicated,” he replied.

“Yeah, that’s what you said when I asked about your name, you get _one_. Complicated how?” Peter leaned on the wall, folding his arms patiently. 

Neal closed his eyes, and sighed, pinching his nose. He kept his head down, rubbing his forehead. 

“Whatever you say stays between us. CI-handler confidentiality” Burke promised.

“There’s no such thing,” Neal scoffed. 

“There is now,” Peter crossed his heart and “zipped” his lips. 

Neal leaned on the wall across from him, looking at the ceiling and then at him. 

“Remember back in prison, I had...a problem?” he mentioned. 

“Yeah”

“And it sent me to the infirmary,” Neal continued. 

“Right. You didn’t want help,” Peter stated, pointedly. 

“But you gave me help and then _it_ stopped,” 

Peter nodded. 

“Except it didn’t,” Neal told him. 

“What?” 

“At least, I thought it stopped _for good_..and it didn’t...it hasn’t,” he clarified, blushing. 

For some reason, the embarrassment in front of Hughes was much more brief. This..was intense. 

“You mean you’ve been,” Peter realised. “Don’t say it!” Neal interrupted.

Peter walked over to him, wrapping an arm around him. 

“Listen to me, PROPERLY; there is nothing you can do, say, or steal, that’ll make me not want to be your partner anymore. We’re together till the end of your sentence. It’s two against one,” Peter comforted. 

“Two?” 

“Me...and your anklet,” he smiled. 

“Can’t argue with that. Or get it off my damn leg,” Neal whined, shaking his leg. 

Peter patted him on the back. “That’s why you asked me if it’s waterproof?..” 

“Yeah, if only I could’ve asked that before it got wet,” 

“You can’t change the past, only the future- Peter Burke” 

“You’re getting a hang of proverbs,” Neal complimented. 

“How did Hughes find out?” he couldn’t help asking. 

“Van+coffee. Wish me luck,” Neal moved to leave. 

“Good luck. At least you’re not wet behind the ears,” Peter encouraged.

Neal stopped. 

“Thanks, Peter.” 

“Anytime, Neal”


	5. Elizabeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> House M.D crossover <3 just this once, don't get all jumpy ; )

Neal had his eyes closed for the majority of the waiting time at the Doctor’s office. He imagined if he looked at anyone they would instantly know why he was there. Eventually, he was shown a room and told to wait for a Dr Gregory House. 

“Nocturnal enuresis,” said a grey-haired man with a cane, entering the room with a grin.

“What’s that?” he asked, confused. 

“The reason you’re here,” 

“No, I don’t think so, I’m here for..” Neal corrected him, but House put a hand up to interrupt.

“Yes, I know what word bullies at elementary school uses,” Greg explained, “but that is the medical term. And it is, contrary to popular belief, not something that only _kids_ can suffer from,” he continued. 

“Yeah, I got that speech from my landlady, so she really wasn’t exaggerating?” Neal asked. 

“No. It is less _common_ , sure. When most, and that is not all, that is _most_ people, grow up, their bladders know not to empty at night. _Yours_ , has taken a slightly different approach,” House smiled. 

“I don’t know how it even happened,” he sulked. 

“Well let’s start with when,” Dr House instructed. 

  
“The first one was very out of the blue. Just after I’d moved to New York. I was living with my friend Mozzie, working for that Ponzi scheme guy Vincent Adler,” Neal retold. 

“Then nothing until I got sent to prison, at which point it was about twice a week. I bet the environment was a factor there. Once again, it stopped for a long enough time to fool me into thinking it was over. The last two times were right after I moved into a penthouse of a con man’s widow on Riverside, so again, new surroundings, not that complicated..and then a few days ago right. in front of. my boss’ boss,” Neal recited. 

“Any comforting explanation for that last one?” House inquired. 

“Caffeine. After that first time, I had a weird feeling that it would happen again during the stake-out, so I tried to keep myself awake. In the end, it was nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy,” 

“And you’ve had no other cases between then and now?” the doctor checked. Neal shook his head. He liked the word “case” better than “accident”. It normalised it. Sort of.

“Well, it seems like your condition is very...fluid, no pun intended. Examples are scattered across several years, popping up here and there. I do not think this is chronic, so you can take solace in that,” House assured him. 

“So, what do I do? I can’t live with that level of insecurity. My job relies on confidence. My con man experience is what I use as a consultant,” Neal asked. 

“I think you have to learn to accept that this is your body. It’s hit and miss. Nobody’s perfect, and your bladder is no exception. Simply put, the anti-diuretic hormone, which tells your brain not to pee in inappropriate circumstances, doesn’t reach your brain every time. All you need to do is choose when you want to take precautions. I’ve got several good brands of cautionary tools you can implement. But, if you have enough support in your life, where you don’t have to pretend to be 100% continent, I recommend you just roll with it. It’s not a hard problem to solve. You just change the sheets and go back to sleep. I know it may seem like the end of the world, Mr Caffrey, but it’s not. It’s just who you are. So you wet the bed every now and then. That doesn’t make you a bed-wetter. It makes you human,” Dr House stated. 

Neal got some garments and special sheets and thanked the Doctor as he left. 

Hearing the “it happens to everyone” spiel from a medical professional made him feel infinitely better. 

He put down the sheets, admiring the Van Gogh. If his bladder wanted to piss on Starry Sky that was its prerogative. 

⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫⧫

The break-up with Sara hit Neal hard. Hard enough that he stopped sleeping. Less to do with his bladder and more to do with mourning. It got so bad that once Peter went off to Washington to meet with OPR, Elizabeth invited Neal to stay over. 

Naturally, he agreed immediately. The overnight bag was packed, the _precautionary tools_ were doused in lavender perfume, and hidden away, and he’d chosen his cheesiest pyjamas. 

They had a great evening, with a nibble of cake, and a sprinkling of wine. As in, several filled-to-the-brim glasses of wine. 

Neal got up to flush out his system, and turned back after washing his hands to find his pyjamas and underwear lying there. Apparently, he’d placed them far too close together in his bag. He’d feel awkward about her touching _those,_ but several women had done so before. 

He went downstairs looking for his bag. As much as he appreciated her help, the underwear was _slightly_ the wrong material. 

“Looking for something?” Elizabeth guessed. 

Neal paused. He decided it wasn’t necessary. He’d just been to the bathroom, so the odds were in his favour. 

“Never mind, it’s just one night. It’s not important,” he dismissed her, wrapping the blanket around himself on the sofa. 

“Sure?” she questioned kindly. 

“Positive. Good night, El,” 

“Night Neal,”

Satchmo licked Neal’s nose goodnight as well. 

* * *

What Neal hadn’t accounted for, was the sheer volume of the wine he had consumed. More than his bladder could contain and expel in one go. So, with the unfamiliar surface of the couch, his body let go a second time, Neal as unconscious as before. 

Sleeping in the living room meant the sunrise was visible much soon, with the drapes much lighter. Thus, when dawn arrived, the con man awoke. 

_The early con man gets the Raphael,_ he mused, yawning. He rolled his eyes at the familiar moist sensation when he realised where he was. On Elizabeth’s sofa. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit SHIT!” Neal whispered, observing the damage. It had more than enough time to soak into the cushions..

He heard a door open. It was Elizabeth. He stood perfectly still, hoping she was just going to the bathroom before going back to sleep. 

“Neal?” 

_Okay, no such luck._

He jumped back under the covers, stretching as if he just woke up. Which was still technically true.

El walked downstairs to check on Satchmo and found Neal wriggling awake in his usual kooky way. If it was related to cat burglar-y activities she didn’t really need to know. 

“Woke up with the sun huh?” she commented. 

“I really needed that,” Neal replied honestly. 

“Maybe you should get a night fedora, hide the bed head,” Elizabeth joked. The bird’s nest on top of Neal’s head was an amusing contrast to his usual look. 

“What bed head? This is Hugh Grant,” he protested indignantly, loosening the tangle near his ear. 

“Right, and that’s Chewbacca,” she played along, pointing at Satchmo, shaking his fur ready for cuddles. 

Neal made a noise, and summoned the “Wookie” and its alien tongue. Much more than his nose got wet during the wake-up call. 

Elizabeth walked into the kitchen to feed him, and Neal got to work. He didn’t have time to clean it, not while she was still at home, so he flipped every cushion, including the dry in case Mrs Suit could tell the difference and ran upstairs to shower. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Once he had changed, Neal laid back down on the sofa, pondering what to do and when to do it. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Elizabeth returning from letting Satchmo out. 

“I don’t ever want to leave this couch,” he complimented, making a show of sprawling his arms along the back of it, taking up space. 

“You can’t get changed lying down,” El pointed out. 

“Don’t have to,” Neal revealed his suit. 

“Alright, you can have breakfast in here, just this once. Don’t tell Peter; he’s always wanted to,” she relented. He crossed his heart seriously, then subsequently grinning.

He finished his breakfast and grabbed a newspaper and a cup of coffee, to enjoy out on the patio. Meanwhile, Elizabeth did the dishes. 

She was about to turn the couch back into a couch and not a bed, or a breakfast area...when Satchmo rubbed his hungry nose along the cushions. 

“Satchmo, don’t. No crumbs for you, not this time..” she told him. 

As if Labradors didn’t have big floppy _ears_ , the dog jumped up and flipped over one of the cushions. 

“Satchmo! Get down from there!” El ran over and pulled him off the furniture. Her eyes went off her pet, and on to the cushion that had a big wet patch on it. 

She frowned. It was only one side. If something was spilled there, then it shouldn’t just be on the back. It didn’t make sense. 

She put the cushion back, and lifted another out of curiosity. Yet another spot was revealed. She repeated the action and found a pattern of wetness crossing all of them. 

Elizabeth sighed. It didn’t take an FBI profiler to figure out what happened. She didn’t blame him, _obviously_. After all, they’d had wine, but she also knew that they hadn’t drunk _that_ much. She had questions, but decided to prioritise sanitation. 

She scrubbed the cushions and hanged them to dry in the laundry room. In the meantime, she also put her, Peter’s and especially _Neal’s_ pyjamas in the washing machine. 

_This explains why he didn’t get up right away,_ she realised. She guessed that he was still wearing his wet clothes at that point. 

* * *

Neal passed by the living room, putting down his newspaper, and heading to the laundry room; to make sure his laundry was successfully embedded into the Burkes’ next batch. 

He noticed the blanket was draped much lower on the couch. A quick peek revealed the cushions were missing. 

Panic set in and he frantically searched the perimeter of the couch, under it and under the coffee table. 

Elizabeth walked in, folding her arms. It wouldn’t be a comfortable conversation, but they had to have it. 

“Looking for the cushions?” she asked knowingly. 

“Yeah..did Satchmo take them?” Neal asked, making an effort to look confused. 

“No, they’re in the laundry room,” El stated plainly. 

Neal’s eyes widened. 

“Take a seat,” she indicated one arm of the couch, leaning on the other herself. 

“Now I assume it _wasn’t_ just the wine, because if it was, then you would’ve told me about it..right?” Elizabeth asked. 

“Probably,” Neal scratched below his ear, looking down. 

“I suppose I’m also right in assuming you prepared for this in some way..or you were about to?..” she continued. 

Neal nodded, feeling considerably more guilty about hiding what happened, than the event itself. 

“That was what you were looking for in your bag, wasn’t it?” El smiled, pointing at where it had been all this time. 

Neal nodded again. “Elizabeth, I’m so sorry,” he apologised sincerely.

Elizabeth walked over to him and hugged him. “Oh, come on Neal, you know I’m not mad at you for that! I just want to know why you didn’t tell me? Don’t you know I wouldn’t judge you by now?” she asked, stroking his back comfortingly. 

“Yes. I just...it would’ve been embarrassing, _spelling out_ what I needed…” Neal sighed. “And, really it doesn’t happen _that_ often. I went to the bathroom before bed, I didn’t know there was anything left to..” he gestured down himself. 

“ _Cause_ that,” El finished his sentence. He nodded. 

“Well, it really wasn’t a problem. Cushions were scrubbed in a few minutes and I had laundry to do anyway. Which I bet you were counting on,” she smirked. Neal rose his eyebrows emphatically in confirmation. 

She brushed Hugh Grant out of his hair endearingly. “Next time you stay over, however far in the future that is...will you find a way to get the courage to wear _,_ _whatever_ it is you wear? You don’t ever have to show it to me, you can do it as surreptitiously as you want,” 

Neal’s lips tightened with regret. “Not for the sake of keeping the couch clean, that’s not important. Just to prevent Satchmo from jumping on it again,” she assured him.

Neal chuckled and nodded. He hadn’t screwed up after all. At least not more than the dog. 

********************

  
  


“That dog is even better than Peter at knowing what I’m up to,” he joked, rolling his eyes.

“What do you mean?” El asked, confused. 

“Remember, how right before Mozzie sold the Degas, he wanted me to steal Peter’s art manifest?” Neal checked. She nodded.

“Instead you copied it, because Peter called you,” she smiled, proud of him and her husband. 

“Except it wasn’t just that,” he explained. “It was also seeing the picture of you and Peter, two people in my life I care about…”

Neal looked amusedly towards Satchmo. “ _And_ Satchmo looking disapprovingly at me,” 

Satchmo heard his name and stared straight at Neal, almost like he understood their conversation. 

“Oh yeah, he’s great at the look of disapproval. _Too_ many treats have been lost because of it,” Elizabeth lamented sarcastically. 

“And apparently it is also great for reminding _you_ what’s important, and keeping you from making big mistakes,” she rubbed his hand, appreciating his choice. 

“Yeah, the two of you is hard enough...one dog whom I have fed lasagna? Game over,” 

Both laughed happily together. 

_Neal knew she liked him. Now, he realised she_ **_loved_ ** _him._

_Who needs biological parents?_


	6. Mozzie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember the Merlot? 'Cause Mozzie does..

After the suit visited Tuesday(twice), Neal had himself a Friday guest. Mozzie immediately took his stuff toward Neal’s bed. 

“Oh no no, you go on the couch. House rules,” he reminded Haversham. 

“I’ve been told by my chiropractor to only sleep on a firm _mattress_ ,” Moz informed him. 

“ _You’re_ your own chiropractor,” 

“No, my new chiropractor is Mr...Polk” Moz corrected smugly. 

“11th President, get down from there,” Neal sighed. 

But it was too late, he had already pulled off the blanket, revealing the plastic sheets beneath. 

“Are these for me? I don’t shed,” he snarked, pointing at the art. 

“They’re for Bugsy. She sneaks into bed sometimes. Too cute to resist,” Neal lied. 

Moz asked if they were clean which, of course, they were. 

Neal went to the storage room to grab a spare mattress. If Moz wanted a mattress he could have a mattress. 

“Here you go, your excellency, now get off my..” he stopped, looking at his bed. It was already preoccupied. 

Fortunately for the occupant, Neal was too tired to argue or kick him away. 

So he just grabbed the smaller version of his rubber sheet, this one with the Sistine Chapel mural on it, and put it on the spare mattress. 

Snuggling under the blankets, he couldn’t help chuckling at what Michelangelo would think of him peeing on the Catholic Church. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Neal was barely conscious as he shuffled to the bathroom to clean up. Once he was redressed, he walked back to his bed, but was interrupted. 

“Where are you going?” Moz mumbled. 

“Back to bed,” he stated carefully, closing the bathroom door.

“The bed is over here,” Mozzie reminded him. 

“That’s your bed..apparently,” Neal pointed out. 

“Look I’m sorry I took your bed, but I saved you a _side_! I won’t let you catch a cold out there,” he insisted. 

“I’ll manage,” Neal dismissed him. 

“You’ve already wet the bed, what are you worried about?” Moz asked. 

“I didn’t..” 

“Neal. I’ve known you long enough. When we were roommates you slept like a rock,” he reminded him. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that Merlot,” Moz sulked. 

“I replaced that Merlot,” Neal defended. 

“You also lied to me. If you spilt it, the bottle would’ve rolled to the floor when you peeled off the sheets, but no. It was on the table. Just like I left it before _I_ tucked in,” 

“Perfect recall,” Neal noted, mentally kicking himself for forgetting that. 

“I don’t care about some wet sheets. I do care about wasting wine,” Moz remarked. 

“I’m sorry,” 

“Apology accepted, now get in here. You’ve puked on me, urine won’t be the grossest thing you’ve planted onto my clothes,” he beckoned. Neal surrendered. 

_About time we had a sleepover…_

“If it helps,” Mozzie reached behind his pillow, “we can share Mozart,” he placed the bear between the two of them. 

Neal smiled, putting an arm above his head, patting the bear’s head. 

“Well, now I‘ve got nothing to fear..except _fear_ _itself_ ,” he commented happily. 

“Misquoting FDR? Okay, that’s it, you’re sleep-deprived, night night,” Moz tried to close Neal’s eyelids. He laughed, and eventually closed them himself.

  
If Neal had slept in his _own_ bed, he would’ve been able to look at the sky. It was a starry night...


	7. Sara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least it wasn't a _Raphael_...

When Sara came to stay in the penthouse, she and Neal picked up where they left off. The Raphael was thoroughly forgotten, as was her empty bank account. Thankfully, the store didn’t sell Raphael printed rubber sheets. 

  
“Of course. I don’t know what I was expecting,” she scoffed, pulling off the comforter. 

Neal ran into the bedroom quick as a cat, before Sara could feel the material too thoroughly. 

  
“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of the couch. It’s got great back support, and I can stack some pillows to make it wider?...” he prayed that she would take it. He was _not_ taking that risk..

“Right, because that just _screams_ five stars,” 

Neal resorted to pulling on his trouser leg, revealing his anklet. 

“You really want that smacking you awake at 3 AM?” he warned. 

“Sure, should be interesting to find out how my baton feels. Plus, I can get you back if it gets too bad,” Sara smirked. 

“Suit yourself…” 

* * *

For the first time in a while, Neal put on his.. _other_ type of underwear. Thankfully, his pyjamas were loose enough to hide it. Or, so he thought. 

“Ok, _what_ is that?” Sara pointed, suspiciously. 

“See something you like?” he grinned. 

“Nice try, Neal. I may not know what you’re packing but I can guess. That’s not it,” she wasn’t buying it. 

“Hey, we agreed to take it slow. I’m just trying to ensure that,” Neal explained, patting the padding cautiously.

“A chastity belt? Really? _You?_ ” Sara chuckled. 

“First time for everything,” Neal walked to the bed. 

“Let me see,” she requested, reaching to feel it. He slapped her away. “Easy, Tiger,”

“Come on, just take it off. Don’t you trust me?” she took his hand, stroking it. 

“Do you trust me?” Neal countered. 

“Of course not, you’re a con man,” 

“ _Was_ a con man,” he corrected.

“Says the guy who has a passport hidden in the wall,” Sara reminded him. 

“I told you, that’s just _insurance_ , and so is this,” Neal insisted. 

“We are _not_ living in a monastery,” she slid her hand along his bare back, towards his buttocks. Before she could get too far down the fabric, Neal grabbed her hand. 

“You’re not very good at the sleight of hand thing. Remember: you need to keep your mark sufficiently preoccupied,” he lectured smoothly. 

“Well, Professor Caffrey; What kind of chastity belt has a cotton lining?” Sara questioned.

He realised that he was cornered. 

“The kind I’m about to take off,” Neal surrendered, going back to change. Thankfully his hearing detected Sara eavesdropping, so he was careful in his process, making no noise.

* * *

He thought he went to the bathroom before bed. He was pretty sure. Though, really he was too tired to recount his day, so off to dreamland he went. 

Sara woke up once again, to wrangle Neal’s anklet back to his side of the bed, and away from her leg. She tried to go back to sleep again, but her arm felt cold. She lifted her arm and the feeling spread to her hand. It investigated further, and seemed to locate a wet spot on the sheets. Specifically, on Neal’s side of the bed. 

At first, she figured he’d been sweating; after all, the tossing indicated night terrors of some kind. Sara shook her boyfriend awake. 

Neal’s immediate thought was to get his leg away from Sara, but found that it already was. He opened his mouth to apologise, but stopped. He realised he was wet. He felt the area, which was slightly too close to Sara’s side of the bed. 

He jumped out of bed, shaking his head in woe. 

“Oh my god, Sara, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear..did it get on you?” he asked her. 

“Just a little..” Sara informed him, patting her nightgown. Out of momentary curiosity, she smelled her hand. It definitely wasn’t sweat. 

“Alright, well, June can wash it, just throw it in the basket, I’m gonna sort the sheets,” Neal explained rapidly, rolling up the mattress cover, and locking the bathroom door behind himself. 

Observing the regular bedsheets underneath, Sara was completely speechless.

* * * * * * * * *

Cleanup was much slower this time, as Neal kept stopping, trying to figure out what to do after he was done. What he should say to Sara. What she might be thinking right at that moment. 

Sara became too impatient waiting for Neal, who was clearly stalling. So she got out her lockpick, and opened the door. 

“Those aren’t normal sheets,” she stated the obvious. 

He turned around, blushing. 

“Sara, I swear, it’s not what you think” Neal defended. 

“And what do I think?” Sara folded her arms patiently.

“I’m not a bed-wetter. It doesn’t happen that often, it’s completely random. I went to the doctor, he doesn’t know what’s causing this. I know I should’ve told you, I just didn’t know how to explain it, and it never really became relevant until now,” he explained. “I figured, what was the point?” Neal looked down sheepishly, covering his wet pyjamas.

“Hey, I get it. It was an accident,” Neal winced at the word. “That’s what that word means. You had no way of knowing it was gonna happen tonight. And you _did_ technically prepare for it. The bed, not me,” Sara hugged him. 

“I tried. That’s what the chastity belt was for. It wasn’t my insurance, more yours,” Neal stated, drying his tears. 

“Well, no harm, no foul. Now. How about we take a shower, _together_. Save water?” she suggested. 

“Why, Miss Ellis. That’s not taking it slow…” Neal smiled, undressing. 

“Well, now you’ve seen _my_ baton, _and_ what comes out of it,” he remarked. 

“There’s still one thing missing,” Sara corrected, grabbing his butt. 

“Oh,” was his only reply, before they both broke into laughter. 

  
**The** **_sheet_ ** **was not the only piece of** **_wet rubber_ ** **in the bathtub that night…**


End file.
